The machine works like a charm, slicing away layer after layer of cross-sensory metaphor. It turns sound back into sight, smell back into vision and taste into language. And as long as he stays dosed on the right stimulants, the audio it pumps into his ear gives him flashes of The World As It Is.

The revelations fade fast, so he files any pertinent findings straight into his little notepad with all the other sketches — mostly torturous phalluses and vaginas like otherworldly orchids. The occasional goblinoid or cydunk enhancement.

Rondo checks his wristwatch and sees it’s nearly time for his meet up with Bomb Tet. Tet chronicles the transit system’s various food carts. Which ones sell actual food? Which ones deal in reliquaries and black market organs?

Tet has seen what the hot dog vats actually contain. He has dissected a jelly bomber and uncovered the vile secrets of its filling. He’s now a devoted vegan.

“Subway Mandala” is another one of my train stories, this one set in a world of perpetual, dreamlike public transportation. Only a select few have learned to peer beyond the illusion. I wonder what’s there? You”ll have to read to find out. There’s some serious sci-fi to this one, but it’s drizzled in plenty of gonzo so you’ll hardly notice.